


Hide and Seek

by DevourAngels



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Established Relationship, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Serial Killers, Violence, dubcon, the legion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevourAngels/pseuds/DevourAngels
Summary: Dwight Fairfield is stuck trying to get generators running with random strangers who ended up in this sick twisted game.Or, that's how it's supposed to go.Dwight ends up injured while he is 'bait' for his own boyfriend, luring him to the others so he can please the Entity and remain useful, while he 'hides' in a locker, the idea of exactly what is going on around him gets the better of him.Relief only comes when you give in.





	Hide and Seek

**_“Run. Run. Run”_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** He could almost  _ hear  _ their thoughts as they ran past, from the screaming to the roaring of the generator not far from him, only three quarters of the way working, a few bolts and a couple twists and it would be up and running. Only two more were left and he was in spitting distance of being one step closer to freeing all of them.    
  
The man was in the dark, one streak of light illuminating the locker he was in, his head was tilted back, gently resting back against the rusted axes that hung against the back wall, these weren’t needed tonight though, not for this killer. He knew this one all too well.    
His glasses were cracked and destroyed in front of the locker, and along with a pool of his own blood he was almost completely sure it was a dead give away of his hiding spot. He didn’t want to be caught just yet, he was in technicality already caught, the knife wound on his upper shoulder was a dead give away to what was going on.    
  
  
But this was the waiting game.    
  
  
  
The man was slumped as far back as he could, passing shadows of crows, their enemy , and his so called ‘friends’ were the only things that interrupted his one streak of light. He ran one sweaty , bloody hand through his short black hair, it was coarse and stiff from being sticky with sweat,blood, and generator oil.  His shirt was torn and practically dripping red, the darker parts were disgustingly adhered to his skin, keeping him from bleeding out, but still the stench of dying blood, sticky blood,  _ his  _ blood.    
  
  
This was their weekly game, Frank Morrison, the leader of the Legion that he had gotten way too close to when he first showed up in this mess. Chasing, turned to cornering, cornering turns into being willing to do  _ anything  _ to stay alive. To not taste that hook for a second time, to never feel the Entities hands on his skin. That is how he ended up here during every round, getting the generators oh so close to being ready, before luring his partner in crime to them to die , be sacrificed and keeping his counterpart alive and useful another night.    
  
He was used to the smell of the grass, always seemingly both freshly cut and riddled with weeds at the same time, every night. Their weird dimension was not his problem, keeping him alive wasn’t the problem. It was the waiting game , the screaming, the blood that would splatter across the very ground he would get thrown on later. The very tables and generators he’d been bent over, laid on, and completely taken apart.     
  
The way he learned to enjoy the taste of his own  blood, and how much he loved the taste of the masked man’s sweat more. The salt when he licked skin, begged for mercy he didn’t need and the way his nails would dig into the very walls that he’d be slammed up against, to be touched, almost worshiped for a good job. Anything to be alive and taken care of.    
  
  


The laughter was prominent behind him, the screaming of someone on the hook, and one person sacrificed, the panting and anxiety practically  _ soaked  _ the air as the remaining survivor was running past, his boyfriend in tow right behind her. After her and the hook sacrifice they would be alone again until the next round.    
The wait was the worst part of watching him put his hands on other people, exert his energy into other people, almost jealousy. Almost. The sting as his muscles and flesh flexed under the bloody wound with each movement, each little twitch his body would give as it warmed up in the locker.    
  
It was almost a show as the body landed a couple yards away from him, Meg’s hopeful crawling across the grass painted it red as his man toyed with her, loomed over her, wandered around her in circles as she weakly attempted to crawl away, maybe to get Ace off the hook, who knows. He wouldn’t find out, no one would. The mask seemed to smile even though the materials didn’t move, the man didn’t laugh, nothing. He simply watched her and steadily raised the anxiety in the air.    
  
Then it turned to face the locker as he stepped along with her crawling.    
  
Eye that barely existed bore into his own through the locker, the mask, just a straight glare into his pupils that sent his body into a shudder, heat and cold simultaneously getting his flesh seared and frozen, a familiar heat settled in his chest;Like hands  they crawled down his hips, down his thighs and back up to make home in his underwear, within almost one minute of that glare he was feeling the fabric grip his dick, though in technically it was straining the fabric.    
  
He swallowed, the saliva in his mouth leaving for his throat left his tongue dry as he tried to look away, but like a robot without programming, he could not.    
  
Frank reached down, knife in hand , and gently traced a line down her back, eyes not leaving Dwight’s, as though a preview of what could happen, not tearing flesh or fabric, but enough for her to swear and try to kick him away, blood loss not making it successful.    
  
His other hand moved, gripping the front of his jeans, just under the button, fingers hooking around exactly what Dwight wanted, the very gift he would get after the last kill.    
  
Nodding as though they could talk to each other through their minds, an idea he craved but could not have, his hands moved. Shaking as though he would be caught at that very moment he fumbled, trying to unbutton his jeans and get them pushed down, blood soaked blue boxers, stained from the blood dripping from his shirt onto his pants, were following to stay just under his knees.   
  
  
His thighs were shaking like his hands, and the cold chill meant nothing when his hand met the already hot flesh between his legs, he gripped the base of his cock first, the only relief coming from the spit he’d been able to get into his hand, just holding it lightly as it hardened, twitching it’s way  easily as Frank loomed over her, unsure if he was speaking to her, laughing at her, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t care.    
  
His free hand was pressing against the side of the locker to keep him steady, swallowing once more, as he began to gently give himself some relief, within a few strokes he was having to spit into his hand again but hey, what could he do?    
  
Teeth worried his lower lip as he would only allow himself a few strokes whenever Frank looked his way, or when he would touch Meg as she crawled , they were still in few but he was beginning to turn from Dwight, before he was gone, just like that he slipped past the palettes and left. Leaving her confused and able to begin trying to fix herself so she could run properly, Ace, still swinging wasn’t screaming anymore, just yelling for help, wondering if anyone was still there.    
  
He knew Frank was playing with her, he had to be, while she worked on patching herself up so she could work on the generator  right next to her, he simply kept up with what he was doing, drifting his eyes closed briefly, only opening them when he would hear noise in hopes Frank was finally ready to finish her off, but was disappointed so they closed again.   
His thoughts drifted to the idea of what would happen when he was found , called for, or Meg was finally dead. His hand gripped a little more firmly, working himself at a steady pace, his teeth only leaving his lip when he could let out a sigh, a small grunt, or a pitiful whimper at the friction.    
  
  
It burned with the constant rubbing but he didn’t care, his balls were tight, heavy and desperate for any sense of release. And fuck, was he going to try to get it.    
  
He wondered where he would be taken next, on that very generator? Dragged to the top of the rock and dirt pile like a Crucifixion? Slammed  onto a table and bound like he was on an altar of sin? What would it be. Would Frank even try his hands? Or would he mercilessly fuck him, and leave.    
  
He wanted the taste of the sweat, he wanted to feel the fingers inside him, the edge of the blade on his skin like a warning to not try and resist, he wanted to hear the details of how he killed them and how it turned him on, how Dwight hiding in fear turned him on.    
  
He wanted to feel him in his body, touching him, pressing in spots he couldn’t try to reach standing here, or in general on his own. He wondered if the rest of the group would watch, if Frank would wait hours, or if he would take him while Meg was instantly dead or even on the ground in front of her while she bled out watching him enjoy the very end of her life.    
  
He forgot how bad his thighs were shaking, he was focusing on the precum, the clear liquid coating his cock, leaking from his sore cock, desperate for relief to the friction, the weight would wind and unwind in the pit of his stomach, his cock would try to twitch his hand.   
  
He wouldn’t last much longer.    
  
  
He stroked himself faster, hands running from the base to just under the head of his cock, pausing only every now and then to run his thumb across the sensitive slit, igniting all the nerves in his body at once , his eyes were still closed, his mouth open as he panted, soft moans echoing back his ears in the locker. He wanted it now, he didn’t want to wait.    
Patience got the better of him, he kept stroking even when his mind flashed behind his eyelids to stop, saliva pooled under his tongue and he swallowed it quickly like he would be rewarded with something else, breath catching his throat as he felt it build.    
  
His knees gave out so fast that him clanging to the floor of the locker didn’t phase him, he didn’t take into account as his orgasm hit him head on that Meg had stopped making noise, it was just wide enough the door didn’t open as cum hit the back of the door, his balls ached when it covered his hand, streaked his jeans, and his whole mind went fuzzy.    
He didn’t realize that his eyes were still closed until they opened to an almost blinding light, perfect timing for the blade to slam just next to his head into the locker, and another hand grasp his shirt, they opened to the light shining behind Frank. The masked killer’s grin hidden behind an expressionless barrier.    
  
He was panting, covered in blood, sweat, and cum.    
He couldn’t fight the man holding onto him.   
  
He didn’t want to.    
  
Dwight gave a weak grin, stumbling out of the locker as his knees hit the grass.  
  
  
  
His heartbeat throbbing in his ears didn’t stop the words.    
  
  
  
  
**_“Well, What do we have here?”_ **   



End file.
